


The Knight's Lance

by dallaswonderland



Category: Humorous Erotica Fantasy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 21:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30011052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallaswonderland/pseuds/dallaswonderland
Kudos: 3





	The Knight's Lance

I emerge from the Enchanted Forest, after an endless slog.

I am tired and downtrodden.

I am hungry, but there is no food to eat and I have no gold.

My noble steed is missing.

So is my armour, torn from my body in the treacherous quicksand.

My sword, irreparably damaged in the battle with the 3-headed, fire-breathing dragon.

I have nothing but the clothes on my back. This burlap shirt. These threadbare trousers. These boots with paper-thin soles.

I've endured trying times before, but the spirits have always guided me to greener pastures.

I never worry.

Luck always changes.

And, as luck would have it, a nearby village is hosting a joust.

The prize is more than enough to replace what was lost.

And so I make my way to the town.

The joust is starting soon.

Preparations need to be made.

With nothing but my charisma and rugged good looks, I'm still able to acquire the necessary supplies.

Men are greedy. And the promise of a percentage of the winnings excites the smithy and the livery owner.

My new armor is rusty. My horse is mangy and bowlegged.

I have no crier to introduce me, but the town drunk is happy to lend his voice in exchange for some ale after the tourney ends.

I make my way to the ring.

I have nothing to prove my knighthood except an oral recitation of my lineage.

But I'm a smooth talker.

I sit in the stands to scout my competition.

And I spot him.

My arch-rival.

Mounted on a massive black steed.

It is Sir Goethnad.

He is famous, of course.

The world's greatest warrior, according to many.

But they're wrong.

When we were boys, I bested him many times.

As a man, his victories are many.

But so are mine.

And so we meet again.

It's been years.

My horse can barely gallop.

My armour is rusted.

He will likely laugh when he sees me.

But I am the more skilled rider.

And besting him to win the purse will ensure that mine is the last laugh.

So, a strategy is already forming.

I will best him with my lance.

But it will be days before I face him.

And there are maidens about.

And who is this one, looking my way?

With her pouty lips and twinkling eyes.

Her skin that looks so soft. Her hair so perfectly styled.

She is an exotic flower.

And I haven't known the scent of a flower in many months.

She is radiant.

She is beautiful.

She has a body that would most certainly be pleasing to touch.

And I haven't touched a body in so long.

I have strategy to consider.

Yet the joust, for now, is forgotten.

But not the lance.

Indeed, the lance is very much on my mind.


End file.
